Right now, I really hate the Air element.
That might not sound very “witchy” of me, but honestly, these days, I don’t feel very “witchy” anyway.
I’ve gone through Hell. Real, legit, mind numbing, heart wrenching, fire and brimstone, pretty sure I’ve been playing pinochle with the Devil, Hell. The fun part is learning that you don’t have to die to be in Hell–it’ll meet you right here on Earth.
There are, afterall, worse things than dying.
Like surviving the death of your mother.
I wasn’t sure I would. Or I could. It wasn’t even the first couple of weeks after she died that were the worse. Those were filled with funeral arrangements and memorial plans and cleaning the house and balancing family dynamics and Other Drama.
Then the funeral was done. There was nothing else to do. I couldn’t keep anything straight in my mind anymore at that point. I Fucked Up Many Things.
Split my coven. That was a goddamn doozy. Everything I did, I did out of love. Trying to help everyone reach their potential. To feel safe, wanted, appreciated. I had Big Dreams, Ideas, Hopes.
I feel like the King of All Cosmos saying it with capital letters. Play Katamari if you don’t know what I’m talking about.
And I spiraled into a depression so profound I almost DIDN’T survive it.
Did you know that there was such a thing as “grief attacks”? It’s like a panic attack but caused by grief.
I have learned there there is such a thing as grief attacks.
I missed work. I lost interest in Everything.
The core of my identity. The thing I’ve focused so much time and energy on. What I believed in beyond all other things as being important to my understanding and engagement with the universe writ large.
I didn’t want to lead Samhain ritual. I didn’t want to Do Anything. I didn’t want to recognize my mother had died just because It Is The Holiday Where We Do That. I wasn’t sure I wanted to practice Wicca at all anymore. I’d had my heart ripped out of my chest, stomped on, and driven into the ground by pain, loss, and other random bullshit.
It was like having my soul pillaged of all meaning and connection with Anything. Everything.
I spent weeks mourning. Mourning my mother. My covens. My faith.
But timing is everything.
So much happened, so much needed to be done. Thanksgiving, Family Christmas, Christmas Part One, My Birthday, New Year’s, Christmas Part Two….and I was working like a fiend.
Drove myself into the ground with work.
The holidays ended and I…broke.
I intended to end my life.
That night, if my husband hadn’t made me go to bed with him, I had every intention of going to the kitchen and swallowing a bottle of Tylenol. And I have the reeeeealllly big bottles.
But, he dragged me to bed with him, not knowing what was going on in my head. And in my depression, I did not have the energy to go to the kitchen from my bed and follow through with my plan.
I went to work. I vomited blood. I got scared. I went to the ED. I forgot they asked you standard depression screening questions…I was surprised into answering honestly.
I was OK enough at that point that they let me go home. Two days later, I was not OK anymore.
My husband took me to the hospital.
I spent a week finding the strength the face my demons. To learn new skills. Put things in perspective.
It’s kinda freaky when the therapist looks at you and takes the biggest deep breath and makes the statement that you have been through A Lot, and they Are Here For You. Out of everyone else in the room. Oh there was support and nods of understanding for the others, but it puts things in perspective that I have really been through Hell when even the objective third party says “Holy Hell” in response to your story.
And these people I was in therapy with had been through Some Shit let me tell you.
It still didn’t answer for me whether I wanted to still practice Wicca.
I’m still not sure. I thought I was. But I think that’s part of the healing. Making a choice, and letting it just sit there for awhile. See how it fits. Realizing it’s never going to fit the same way again. Decide if you like the new fit.
A huge chunk of the bullshit? It’s all Air element shit. Communication. Or rather a lack thereof. Oh, and, as it turns out, lies. Probably more than anyone is willing to own up to. It doesn’t matter. The part that always gets me is, “If we don’t say anything it’ll be OK.”
Maybe for certain things. I can see it. But over and over again?
The media? Whatever. I don’t care if everything is “fake news” or “liberal propaganda” or “right wing conspiracy theories.” The problem is that all of the news is SUBJECTIVE. Oh, there might be some facts at the core of it, but every damn thing has commentary attached to it. That gives it bias and turns something that could have been objective reporting for the people to form their own opinions about into subjective editorializing on everything.
And I’m EXHAUSTED by it.
“Believing” coronavirus isn’t real doesn’t make it fake. “Believing” it’s a conspiracy doesn’t mean people haven’t lost their loved ones.
Saying a thing also doesn’t magically make it so.
MAGIC IS A FUCK LOT HARDER THAN THAT, HUMANS.
This lack of good quality communication, civil discourse, the POSITIVE air element things? It’s resulting in violence. Willful ignorance. Anger. Death.
It’s literally resulting in death.
Which still isn’t the worst thing.
The worst thing is watching your mother die for 25 days from brain atrophy and aspiration pneumonia because she gave up on living. The worst thing is watching putrefaction bubble up from her lungs and listening to her death rattle nonstop for three days straight, and not being able to stand being in her room for more than a few minutes at a time because it’s just so goddamn awful. And nothing is helping. There’s nothing TO help. She just needs to die.
I laid in the bed in the room next door for hours at a time, crying, wishing there were more I could do. Knowing that it’s harder on ME at this point than for her because she’s lost consciousness.
Although somehow she didn’t lose consciousness after losing 4 LITERS OF BLOOD from a massive GI bleed a week prior. Except she’s so morbidly obese that her body just has so much in reserve.
And everyone, Everyone, says she’s on her journey. But she has so much existential pain I can’t do ANYTHING about, she can’t let go just yet. I tried for YEARS to help her heal her mind and her heart. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing helped.
I gave all my love to her. I owe Everything to that woman. My very life twice over, when she gave birth to me, and when she rushed me to the hospital when I was 2 weeks old and stopped breathing. I had pneumonia.
Three years ago, when she almost stopped breathing from pneumonia, and I called 911.
And she has been clear with me–she wants to die. No interventions. Don’t Do Anything, Let Me Go.
There was nothing to do but wait. Give her comfort meds, and wait.
My aunt is her twin. She heard my mother’s first heart beat.
And her last.